


Child Soldier

by GiveMeABreak80



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, PTSD.Va, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiveMeABreak80/pseuds/GiveMeABreak80
Summary: Inspired by Counting the Dead by pariahpirate.(Go read it)This is what I think the direct aftermath is for D.va where the story ends off.
Kudos: 15





	Child Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Counting the Dead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8127532) by [pariahpirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pariahpirate/pseuds/pariahpirate). 



> Just read Counting the Dead by pariahpirate and was filled with many emotions. Go read it if you haven't yet, or this won't make much sense.  
> Hopefully it's ok that I took creative liberty and wrote my opinion of what the next event would be. I know it's not as good and not quite in the same style, but I thought it was about time I posted something.
> 
> (Full credits to pariahpirate for the backstory, idea, and inspiration. Their writing is incredible)

Your ears start to ring as the feeling of walls closing in on you becomes stronger. All you can hear is the ringing and your heart pounding. Slowly, but speeding up. It sounds like gunfire. Bullets.  
Like the bullets that killed the many people you loved. 

You think you see someone in front of you - Fareeha - who’s eyes are round and wide. She says something. You can’t hear her.  
Just gunfire. 

You find your feet and jolt up unsteadily. A hand gently reaches for your shoulder, but you flinch away and your feet move on their own accord. You fling yourself out the door, away from the people with horrified faces and so many things to say.

Run.

You’re running running running, like you once ran from fear, but it’s all coming back now. There’s no escape. 

You dodge into your room and lock the door behind you, jamming a chair under the handle for good measure. You’re panting, but your exertion isn’t from running. It’s from your spinning head, your panic, your memories and your fears. Too much.

Your foot loses traction and you hit the carpeted floor. Distantly you hear Junkrat yelling something, his maniacal voice screeching something harsh and panicked. If you could find your voice you would be yelling like that too. 

Shut up.

Everything is too loud, you can hear gunshots and your ears are still ringing and Junkrat’s voice fades away and that means he’s dead and - oh god - you’ll have to add another tally mark to your already existing forty-six on your body.  
Dr. Ziegler really hadn’t liked to see those marks on your body. She didn’t listen to you when you insisted it wasn’t self-harm, because it wasn’t, it was a way to remember the dead. The ones you should have protected are now immortalized into your flesh.

You shift up to your knees, crouching low and pressing your hands over your ears. Still too loud. Too many thoughts. Too much fear.

You grit your teeth with a silent snarl and trust a fist out into the nearest wall. There’s a bang and a dent and your hand hurts but that’s not enough to shut your mind up. 

You punch again, and again, and again, not stopping even when your skin splits and bones fracture. When it becomes too painful, you berate yourself in your head. Weak. And you switch hands.   
The slamming of your hands into the wall mixes in with the bullet in your head and drowns out the banging on the door. 

You need to fight. 

You can’t stop, Dr. Ziegler can’t make you. You’ll just leave and fight Talon yourself then kill those filthy omics that took everything from you. Your family, your name, your age, your friends, your city, yourself.

What had happened to you? 

Nothing, you quickly reply in your head. Back in the days before MEKA, people said you had problems with indulgence, but that was just loving life. Yeah you drank, ate, fucked, gamed, did anything like there was no tomorrow, but there may not have been tomorrow. It was justified, right?

Deep down, you know something irreversible happened to you when you were ‘seven’ and were wandering the bloodied streets of your hometown. 

But you’re fine. You fight to protect. You can’t protect everyone and you sure didn’t but you tried, you really tried.

You force your eyes open - you don’t know when you closed them - and look down at your agonizing hands. You flinch and grit your teeth, barely holding back the bloody memories in your head. The sight of blood shouldn’t affect you this way anymore but it does, it still does. 

You shouldn’t have come to Overwatch, you could have stayed with Sun and fought for the Korean military because at least you could fight there. No one cared about the tally marks and you didn’t feel fear there. 

What have you done wrong?

The unanswerable question brought to your attention only when Dr. Ziegler ruined your life just earlier in the rec room. You lied about your age, but you didn’t know it. You had been left nameless, ageless, friendless, and without any family, because the giant omnic came out of the sea and sank Busan. It wasn’t your fault, was it?

You fall back onto your backside, hot tears running down your face. Finally, you realize the banging is coming from your door seconds before it bursts inwards, sending the chair flying to your left. 

You scramble back instantly, hand reaching for the knife in your thigh holster. Sun’s knife. You never went anywhere without it, did anything without it. You even slept with it. 

You brandish it in front of you, panicked eyes darting across the faces of your intruders. Fareeha, Lucio, Lena, and Dr. Ziegler. Teeth bared, the first sound that escapes your throat other than harsh sobs is a yell. A yell of defeat, a yell of a cornered animal approaching its last hurrah, one that wouldn't go down without a vicious fight.

You are barely aware of your bloodied hands until Lena glances at the hole in your wall for a little too long. The brit quickly looks back at you, eyes filled with tears. 

Pathetic.

But your hand pulses and suddenly the pain in your hands hits you in full force. You almost drop the knife. Almost.

Fareeha steps a foot closer, but when you shove the blade at her she stops and puts her hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s ok.” 

No it’s not. You know it, she must know it too.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Lena eases sideways to your right by your bed.

You’re not dumb, you know what they’re doing. They’re surrounding you. The walls are closing in again.

You shake your head. “Please don’t.” Your voice is strangled, raw. A shaky smile is forced onto your face. The mask is second nature to you, and despite your pain, you straighten up on your feet, smile strengthening by the moment.

“Can you give me the knife?” Fareeha’s voice commands your eyes on her.

You shake your head. “Don’t touch me.” You glance up to Dr. Ziegler who is positioned by the doorway. Her eyes are red and there are tear tracks on her face. She looks a mess.

In a blur of motion, Lena slams into you, the knife in your hand is twisted out of your grip, and Lucio holds your arms firmly behind your back. You crumple to your knees, but Fareeha’s holding you up now too, and you can’t move.  
Dr. Ziegler approaches you with a sad smile and a syringe. After an eternity of panic, a sharp pinch at the back of your neck turns your world black.


End file.
